Chanyeol regrets not bringing a thicker robe. The icy air bites at the exposed skin of his neck and face, leaving them raw and red. Water spills over the edge of the wooden boat, dampening the dark fabric of his robes.

“Are we there yet?” one of the whinier first-years asks. Chanyeol remembers him from the train; he’s hard to forget with his vibrant rainbow hair. Chanyeol had been distracted by a few of the swishy-haired, porcelain-skinned girls in the compartment next to his, had been peering desperately out from behind his curtain to try and catch a glimpse of them after they had filed in one-by-one into their seats, all nine of them somehow managing to find a place to sit.

“What’s your name?” the elderly teacher in the first boat barks at him, brow furrowing as she disdainfully acknowledges his bright hair.

“Sehun,” he answers, fear in his voice. “Oh Sehun.”

“Oh Sehun, I would advise you to be quiet, lest you be tossed overboard and fed to Daria the giant jellyfish.”

Right on cue, a glowing pink bubble appears under the water, tentacles fanned out underneath it. Sehun is quiet for the rest of the boat ride.

“I heard the second-years get to take carriages to the castle,” one of the girls on the boat next to Chanyeol’s is whispering to her friend.

Chanyeol looks down at his damp robes.

Carriages would be nice.